Courtly Things
by ashestoashesanddusttodust
Summary: Drabbles for various people and versions.
1. Chaste Love

**Chaste Love  
**

**A Word**: V Day request for Cullen and Dorian.

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"Oh that is just too sweet," Dorian says. His voice is amused with just the right edge of sharpness to it for Cullen to know the mage is laughing at someone even before he looks up from the chess board.

Across the garden Josephine leans against the railing of the walkway and looks down on Blackwall. The Warden stands almost at attention with one hand placed in the small of his back, the other reaching up with a single flower towards Josephine. He's speaking, but his back is to them so Cullen has no idea what is being said. He can guess though going by the pleased smile on Josephine's face.

"It is the day for it," Cullen remarks because he's stumbled across more awkward confessions and displays of affection today than he has the entire time they've occupied Skyhold.

"It is the day of cheap trinkets, and sentiments that are meaningless," Dorian says and his gaze cuts to Blackwall and Josephine pointedly. The chaste love the two share are an open secret to many, and Cullen finds the whole affair heartening. Dorian, on the other hand, doesn't seem to understand the whole concept at all and is absolutely frustrated by it. "What use is declaring your _affections_ on a certain day if you have no intention of doing anything with it?"

"Cheap trinkets?" Cullen ignores the jab at the two and raises one eyebrow as he looks at the bottle of wine imported from Tevinter at no small cost to himself. It's nestled firmly against Dorian's side, one hand hovering over it protectively as if it is in danger of rolling away. "Should I have not bothered?"

"Absolutely not," Dorian's finger close convulsively around the neck of the bottle and he even hunches over it protectively. "I detest those cheap things the merchants are hawking out, but wine is an entirely different matter."

"So you say," Cullen remarks as he moves a pawn. Neither of them is winning at this point, but they're not giving the game the due diligence they normally give it. "I will have to sell back all the other gifts I have back to them then."

Dorian squints at him for a moment. Clearly trying to figure out how much of what Cullen's saying is a jest and how much is not. He enjoys the uncertainty on Dorian's face for the brief moment it lasts. "Oh, I wouldn't go that far my Commander. After all, I have not had the chance to shower you with any of the gifts I bought for you."

"You bought me gifts?" Cullen asks. Surprised, not because he thought Dorian wouldn't give him gifts, but because he was fairly sure this holiday doesn't exist in Tevinter.

"You wound me," Dorian drawls as he plays with two different pieces and he's not paying any attention at all to Blackwall or Josephine anymore. Or the game really going by the wicked smile on his face. "Of course I have a few trinkets for you. I simply didn't bring them with me as they're not the kind of things to be shown in polite company. In my quarters however..."

Dorian trails off suggestively and slowly stands. He gives Cullen one last smirk before strolling off. The wine bottle hooked between two fingers.

Cullen swallows and licks his dry lips. He takes his time resetting the pieces for whoever may want to play next before standing himself. He looks over at Blackwall who is still standing a respectful distance from Josephine. A distance that will never grow shorter out of necessity. He smiles a little and then forgets them entirely as he sets his mind to figuring out the quickest route to Dorian's room.

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	2. That Damn Hole

**That Damn Hole  
**

**A Word**: Some minor Cullen and Dorian.

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Cole is sitting on the table again when Cullen enters the room. The spirit was not taken along with the Inquisitor this time, and without her presence he tends to gravitate to whoever is left in Skyhold. Cole seems to like sitting in on the regular planning sessions that happen without the Inquisitor's presence, and even -on occasion- offering an insightful opinion of his own on things. His being here has become a little less unsettling and a little more expected by now. His feet are off the map at least this time.

"Commander," Josephine greets him with a nod and the kind of sly smile that never bodes well for anyone.

"Ambassador," Cullen says back cautiously as he strides up to the table and busies himself studying the changed positions of the markers for their forces to give himself some time to judge where this might be going.

Leliana leans against the table on the other side of Josephine. Her face serene and secretive, but that is her normal expression and trying to pry anything from it is a fruitless endeavor. They're a formidable pair, and the hidden threat that makes the Inquisition more than just a force of soldiers.

"We were just discussing the recent drop in temperature, Cullen," Leliana offers with a small smile that's far too practiced to be real. "All of the vital repairs have been finished to the keep. Perhaps it's past time you allowed the builders to fix that rather gaping hole in your roof now."

Ah, this again. Cullen plants his hands on the table to lean against it and relaxes. It would be annoying if he weren't so charmed at their concern. They all worry. Incessantly at times, but it's out of care that they worry and Cullen cannot be annoyed over much at that.

"I am fine," Cullen dismisses the offer easily. The cold does not bother him overly much, and the light that comes through the hole -from the sun, the moon, or the stars- is rather charming. Romantic even depending on if he's watching it alone or not. "There are far more pressing areas that need to be fixed first."

"If you insist," Leliana's smile doesn't falter as she gives in far too easily, and that puts Cullen on edge all over again. "_I_ certainly do not mind it."

"You don't," Cullen repeats dumbly as his mind races trying to figure out the angle here, because there is one. The fact that Josephine's lips are twitching only supports that gut feeling, but he's not seeing the trap. Whatever it is.

"His voice echoes," Cole speaks up suddenly. His voice lilting and fast in the way he gets when he's not speaking as much as repeating whatever it is he's hearing. "Raw, loud. Calling to the Maker with such passion it's like singing. Maker bless that hole. If it crumbles anymore I can see in too. Wait, is that Tevene?"

There's a moment, after a trap has been sprung, where Cullen simply looks at it. Amazed that he missed it, and numb to the pain of it for that precious moment. It's a shocked reaction that applies just as much to verbal traps as physical ones apparently. Cullen admires the simplicity of this one for that moment, and then loses all that appreciation in the rush of embarrassment.

Cullen studies his hands. Placed firmly on the table with the tips of his fingers just barely touching the edge of the map. Cole's shadow flickers as he moves, completely unconcerned with what he's just said or the absolute mortification he has to be able to read in Cullen right now. He'd never thought about the way noise echoes and travels, or the way a hole in his roof could allow it to travel. "Ambassador, could you..."

"Ask our building foreman to patch the roof of your rooms?" Cullen doesn't need to look up to know that Josephine is smiling. That damning smile that she uses when someone else's pain amuses her. He can hear it all over her voice. "Of course, Commander."

"Can we assume that alternative rooms need not be found for you?" Leliana drawls out and doesn't even try to stifle her amused laughter when Cullen hunches his shoulders a little and still refuses to look up.

"No, that won't be necessary. Thank you," Cullen works with the worst people in all of Thedas, truly they are awful.

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	3. Wife Off

**Wife Off  
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**A Word**: Alistair and Cullen, wife off.

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"My wife saved Orzammar by tracking down two Paragons through the Deep Roads, and got to choose who would be king in the end."

"My wife save Orlais by stopping Empress Celene from being assassinated."

"It's Orlais. I doubt she was doing the world all that much of a favor."

"Perhaps, but she managed to do it all in one night while mingling with Orlesian nobles. She made the whole court adore her and somehow managed not to strangle a single one of them."

"Ok, yes, impressive, but mine killed an Archdemon."

"As did mine."

"That was a false Archdemon! You can't count that."

"How about the corrupted Tevinter magister turned Darkspawn?"

"Ever seen a Broodmother?"

"The world has a significantly reduced population of high dragons since my wife started traveling it freely."

"…mine can bake cakes."

"Are they edible?"

"Um, technically? Yes. They are edible to a certain degree of the meaning of the word."

"Ah, I see. I find myself in the same situation. They lack all the qualities a cake should have, don't they?"

"They taste like rocks, but you eat every one of them. Don't you?"

"Yes."

"We probably should have stopped them from going to kitchen to exchange recipes then."

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	4. Irredeemably Ridiculous

**Irredeemably Ridiculous  
**

**A Word**: This is utterly ridiculous. :) Modern Cullrian.

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The bathroom is not nearly big enough for two fully grown men to stand in comfortably unless they're both naked and one of them is pinned to the wall. Sharing the sink in the morning is just out of the question, but Cullen never seems to be able to get that through his groggy mind.

"Your hair is ridiculous," Dorian declares the second time Cullen's arm knocks into him as he's trying not to cut his face open while shaving. An impossible feat with Cullen squinting into the mirror just over his shoulder. Dorian sets his razor down to turn to the other man who blinks blearily at him. Still half asleep despite the fact Dorian had sat him down in front of a full mug of coffee not five minutes earlier. "No, strike that, _you_ are ridiculous, and an affront to all that is decent and sane this early in the morning."

He is. A sleep rumpled Cullen is equal parts sickeningly adorable and puberty inducing hotness wrapped up in a mumbling and pliant package that Dorian has taken advantage of once or three dozen times before. He's wearing only a pair of worn sweats that are being held up over the swell of his ass only by the cruel will of the Maker, and his face still has pillow creases on it. Pillow creases! Dorian almost can't handle the simultaneous urge to fuck and coddle the grown man in the mornings somedays.

"Give me that," Dorian takes the brush from Cullen's lax fingers. He's found the one with the broken handle that pinches his fingers again despite Dorian having bought three perfectly good ones in the last month alone. He tuts and reaches for the closest one -right in the cabinet next to the hair gel where Dorian had pointedly put it- before settling his other hand on Cullen's sleep warmed shoulder to push him down enough to get a solid plan of attack for the chaos that is his hair in the mornings. "I'm throwing that damn brush out later, and if I find you've fished it out of the trash again there will be consequences to pay."

Cullen hums without any indication that he's understood what Dorian said as the brush rips through the tangles of his hair. The blonde locks are a riot and Dorian used to worry that he was being too forceful, but time and growing familiarity with the way curly hair is has disabused him of that notion by now. There is no other word for how Cullen styles his hair except 'attack' after all.

The hair fluffs out from the matted mass it was before. Smooth and a little soft when Dorian runs his fingers through it with only a little difficulty. Poofing up into the lions mane Dorian adores to tease the man about when he's more awake. As it is, Dorian makes a silent note of it and mourns not having the foresight to charge his phone the night before to take a picture. Cullen's hands settle on Dorian's hips when he exchanges the brush for the gel that he works in quickly. The thick gel is only step one in taming the hair. Steps three through five will come after breakfast.

When he's done Cullen falls just enough over the line of sexy to not be ridiculous anymore. He still has red lines on his face, and looks ready to fall asleep on Dorian but the look is far more appreciable with his hair somewhat tamed. Perhaps not having his phone is for the best. He'd hate being responsible for the inevitable pining that would occur on having others see Cullen like this on accident when borrowing his phone.

"Breakfast?" Cullen croaks out in a cracked voice that really should be criminal to use outside of sex. His fingers press and knead a bit into Dorian's skin as he straightens from his slouch.

"If you insist," Dorian feels no shame in placing his gel slicked hands on Cullen's bare shoulders to lean in to give him a kiss. Perhaps a bit more heated than he should considering they have places to be this morning, but it's hard to mind when Cullen opens up for him. The fresh mint of toothpaste covering all but the slightest bit of taste of coffee. Shaving foam clings to his face when Dorian pulls back, and Dorian rubs it in with a thumb. Cullen's due a shave himself before his scruff turns into an actual beard. He grins and knows he must look ridiculous leering with half of his face still covered with the foam as he suggests, "Though I could think of something better to have on the kitchen table."

"Hm, no," Cullen muses and there's more than a hint of amusement in his eyes as the caffeine cruelly kicks in too soon. Watching his mind kick into gear in a matter of seconds is more than a bit disappointing, but is just another thing Dorian has grown used to. "That's dinner. Finish shaving and I'll start the omelets."

Cullen leans in to place a chaste peck on a shaved bit of skin at his chin before twisting away with an ease that's insulting given how clumsy he was only a few minutes earlier.

"So cruel," Dorian says to Cullen's broad back before turning back to the mirror to finish shaving in peace without the threat of a stray elbow to make him cut himself. They have solid plans and deadlines to meet, but Dorian's sure he can manage to get Cullen on the table for at least ten minutes.

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	5. Jeopardy

**Jeopardy  
**

**A Word**: Couples competing at Jeopardy. Also Cullen can't remember his dogs name because Dorian's called him Dingbat often enough the dog won't answer to anything else.

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Dorian scoffs even before the answer is complete. "It's Genetivi you brain dead moron!"

He's right, of course, and the contestant on the TV blinks hard as he's buzzed wrong. None of the other two try to steal the question and Alex Trebek gently gives them and the audience the answer.

"Is this the idiot episode?" Dorian asks in disgust as he throws a chip at the screen. There's a flurry of scrabbling paws as Dingbat darts out from the kitchen to swallow the chip up before it even has time to touch the floor. "Who doesn't know Genetivi?! Not knowing him is like, I don't know, not knowing how to breathe! Get your massive oaf of a dig out of the way. I need to see this stupidity."

"Stop feeding him then," Cullen shifts their sprawl enough to grab a few chips from the bowl Dorian's hoarding and throws them back towards the kitchen. Dingbat scurries after them with a happy little yip. He'll be back again with massive sad eyes the moment he finds them now that Dorian's started feeding him. "And I thought you were done with stupidity today? In fact I distinctly recall you mentioning something about fire and gasoline if you didn't get immediate confirmation the world wasn't filled with absolute morons."

"That was an hour ago, and you responded quite appropriately," Cullen can't see Dorian's face from the way he's laying on his chest, but the leer is loud and clear in his voice as he pats the arm wrapped around him. "Aside from myself the only thing more brilliant than your tongue is the way your ass looks in those jeans you're not allowed to wear in public anymore."

"I live to serve," Cullen says, amused at the way he can feel Dorian shiver and pause. Far too many clever response coming up for even his quick mind to choose one. While he's distracted Cullen takes the chance to call out the next answer. "Ostagar."

"Who is Ostagar?" The woman who stole question answers with a slight stutter. Her eyes widening even before she's finished in realization of her mistake.

"Who? Who?!" Dorian splutters and jerks in Cullen's hold. Any indignation of being beaten to the answer forgotten in his new outrage. "The category is famous battle sites! There is no who involved in that! Is she Orlesian? She's Orlesian. Only they'd think a place could be a who."

Dingbat wanders back out licking already gone traces of powdered cheese from his muzzle. The large dog collapses against the side of the couch making it jolt as he puts his head on one of Cullen's legs. Brown, watery eyes gaze pitifully up at them but Dorian's too worked up by now to notice and give in to them.

"Minrathos," Cullen says and tightens his grip around Dorian as the man tries to slam an elbow into him.

"That's different," he says. Voice dripping with venomous disdain. His voice rises with each word as he starts in on a familiar rant. "There's actual history in Minrathos. It's the cradle of civilization and-"

"The Chantry Reformation," Cullen breaks in and hides his grin as Dorian cuts himself off and whips his head to the screen where the next question is still displayed.

"You sneaky little-" the chips get dumped and Dingbat goes to work as Dorian rips himself from Cullen's arms. Twisting up and around to straddle him. His expression is severe but his eyes are filled with barely restrained mirth. "Cullen are you trying to distract me to try and win this round?"

"I'm not trying to win," Cullen smirks and let's Dorian pin him to the couch to loom over him. The screen flickers to blue in the corner of his eye and Cullen shifts just enough to see it without giving it away. "I've already won. Kirkwall."

Cullen laughs over the sound of someone actually getting the answer right on the game show even as Dorian makes a strangled noise of outrage.

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	6. What is Wrought

**What is Wrought  
**

**Notes:** Was going to be part of the kiss meme, but Sebastian's too angry and it went nowhere.

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Cullen has learned to recognize hatred. It was all he really knew for too many years. Inside and out, in the faces of others and the reflection of a mirror when he could stand to look in one. He's seen how it twists people and knows very intimately how those changed don't always realize it.

"There is nothing just in this," Sebastian Vael says. The words hissed and his accent is thick with anger. It destroys the gentle Brother that Cullen has seen assist at the Chantry, and with prayers in the Gallows. The man who had been a favorite confessor to the younger recruits is twisted before his eyes into something he never thought he'd see from him.

What Cullen sees now is a bitter and enraged ruler. A ruler of lands not yet his, but the hate in him is bright enough that Cullen has no doubts Starkhaven will have a new king before the month is out. The man needs an army for his plans.

"He will pay," it's a promise and an oath. His eyes burn when he turns away from the Templars picking through the ruins of the Chantry to face Cullen. "He _will_ pay and all who helped him, all who gave that abomination even a smidgen of aide will pay with him!"

This man will see Kirkwall burn for his hatred, and the true culpability of those caught in the fire is irrelevant. The innocent will suffer for it and their pain will be accepted as a necessary cost to Sebastian.

Anders is long gone. Hawke with him, and every one of his companions as well. Cullen had not seen them off, but he'd at least earned a note. A quick missive that talked more about the rumors of an Exalted March than where they were going. Someone will pay, but it won't be the people Sebastian wants to get.

The facts are obvious to Cullen, and the words burn at his tongue but he keeps them to himself. Because the thing is, with the hate burning in Sebastian, he won't believe a single thing Cullen says.

"It is for the Maker to judge not us," Cullen can't resist saying even as he sees the words slide right off the man. "What you are looking for is vengeance. Not justice. The Revered Mother-"

"Is dead," Sebastian cuts off coldly. His eyes are hard as metal and Cullen can almost see the man writing him off in that moment.

"And would be disappointed even were she alive," Cullen reminds him. The Revered Mother had never been one to take a hard stance one way or another on many things, but Cullen has walked in on the tail end of one too many reprimands in the past to think she would not disapprove of Sebastian's vengeance seeking. "As you well know, Brother Vael."

"I will not be dissuaded, Knight-_Captain_," Sebastian refuses to rise to his words. Stubborn as Cullen expected. He _will_ have his vengeance no matter what any others say. No matter what those who have truly suffered want or need. "This atrocity will not go unanswered."

"I never doubted that," Cullen says to his back as the man strides away. Done with the discussion, and Cullen knows the next time he sees the man it will be at the head of an army. "I only hoped."

He sighs and scrubs a hand over his head. Gripping the hair slightly as the weariness he's been fighting since Meridith fell only grows. Kirkwall is still in shambles, and unrest is growing. Sebastian's declaration is just one more thing added on to it.

"Forgive us," Cullen whispers to himself and the Divine ears that may or may not be listening. "For the wonders we create in your name resemble nightmares more than works worthy of your gaze."

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	7. Dreams

**Dreams  
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**Notes:** Cullrian request for comfort.

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Despite his initial misgivings it's nice to not wake up alone.

Cullen doesn't start violently when his dreams take a turn for the worse, when he starts fighting to regain consciousness. Fighting until his eyes are wide and his chest heaving as the past -twisted by the vagaries of the Fade- slowly seeps away.

It's calming then to lay there and count his slowing heartbeat while focusing on the heavy and warm weight of an arm. Thrown carelessly over his chest and not stirring at all even as Cullen reaches up to run his fingers down it lightly.

Dorian's breath fans out over his shoulder. Deep and even. He's slid off of Cullen sometime during the night, and his head is buried in the pillow. He's still close enough for Cullen to feel the occasional brush of lashes on his skin. Irregular and barely felt but there all the same.

It's nice and comforting. Cullen focuses on Dorian. His presence taking his mind fully away from the nightmares more deftly than his old habit of simply getting up to work some more. A useful habit that had kept him ahead of a lot of catch up, but made the skin under his eyes darken enough to worry everyone.

Which is perhaps what had prompted Dorian to insist on sharing his bed beyond the tumbles the managed far less often than either of them liked. Cullen won't argue the effectiveness of the tactic if that was it though.

He smiles slightly and listens to the slight whistling of Dorian's breathing. Counting the in and out of it until his own eyes slide shut again, and sleep steals up slowly on him.

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	8. Sweets

**Sweets  
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**Notes:** Request for Cullen and sweets. Cole snuck in.

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The tin is worn from the many uses it's been put through. There was once something painted on it, but the details have all been chipped off with handling and he's left with only a green background. The tin is thin and promises to bend under his fingers, but the single hinge on the lid moves smoothly.

Looking closely at that hinge Cullen can see something that looks like dried leaves. Tea or tobacco. He doesn't know and it doesn't matter because the tin carries neither of them now. It's filled with cookies. Pale golden discs with the shimmer of sugar along the top and nothing else.

Butter cookies. Cullen smiles because he's heard Josephine once. Complaining to Leliana about his 'simple' tastes shortly after her attempt to find a gift for him. An apparently frustrating process that he only learned about after he'd received and eaten a tin of cookies.

That tin had been brand new, the paint distinct, and the cookies inside a variety of kinds with delicate shapes and icing. He'd enjoyed them, yes, but he smiles now wondering what Josephine would say if she knew he thinks he's going to enjoy these ones more.

"Simple, straightforward, sincere. _Not_ boring," Cole says and Cullen can see the bottom of his shoes dangling from the top of the ladder in his office. The heels miss the wood by the barest fraction as he swings them back and forth. "There's nothing wrong with the warmth of the hearth fire. Mia and Mama laughing as the smell of baking fills the kitchen. Golden light from the sun as gold as the sugar melting on my tongue."

"Yes, thank you," Cullen clears his throat because that image, that memory, is bright and vivid even as Cole describes it. There's a lump in his throat that he knows is homesickness. A faded thing that he's dealt with most of his life. More so now that home is still a blight ravaged ruin. The people scattered to different corners of Ferelden. Bittersweet, like most of his memories. "Have you had one, Cole?"

The feet stop swinging a bare second before he's falling. A sudden move that makes Cullen tense with worry that he can't help despite knowing no harm will come of it. "No, why would I? Those are your memories."

"The thing about memories," Cullen sets the tin down at the edge of his desk so that they face Cole. He lets the bittersweet memories of his childhood go. They are only bitter because he allows them to be really. "Is that you are always making them. You can have old ones and new ones."

Cole moves two different ways. Abruptly, powering his way to an objective with sharp almost violent gestures, or slowly with tentative but graceful gestures. It's easy to see the fist, and Cullen rarely gets to see the second. He suspects Varric might be more familiar with those.

He's reminded a little of the feral cats in Kirkwall that had clustered in the docks. Scrawny, suspicious things that wouldn't stand to be close to any person, but would cautiously approach anything that might be food. Cole sidles up to the tin with sideways steps. "I don't need to eat."

Yet. Solas seems to be sure that if Cole continues down the path he's on now that he'll eventually be more human than spirit, and that food will become necessary sooner than that. Cullen reaches for a cookie and feels the lingering warmth in them. They're freshly baked then. Good. "No one needs to eat cookies, but that doesn't stop us."

The cookie crumbles under his teeth and melts a little on his tongue. Exactly as he remembers. The taste is not as rich or complex as the ones from the tin Josephine gave him, but it's more real for that. Sturdy and hearty really.

"Like Fereldens," Cole comments as he picks one cookie up with both fingers. A comical image given how large his hands are and how small the cookies were made. "Simple."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Cullen points out and watches as Cole bites into the cookie.

Cole stares at the cookie for a moment afterwards. Not chewing, head tilting to the side in consideration before he blinks. Maybe for the first time since the conversation started. He sounds absolutely surprised when he says, "It's good!"

"Yes," Cullen agrees and thinks that this could become another memory too in time. "But don't speak with food in your mouth. It's not considered polite."

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	9. Sweets 2

**Sweets 2  
**

**A Word**: And now with Cullrian.

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Dorian imports a variety of things to Skyhold whenever he can. Books that don't make him complain, and that ease his way with the mages who still are standoffish with him. Clothing that isn't practical at all for the weather, but are the height of a fashion that hasn't reached the South just yet. Wine, drinkable and not as likely to poison him, whenever he can manage it. Nearly everything he needs to make living in the frigid mountains almost bearable.

Sitting in the library with a good text debating the effectiveness of liquid lyrium versus powdered, a fine glass of wine in the other hand, and striking an exceedingly fine image in his brand new leather pants and boots he almost feels at home. The only thing missing would be those sweetly sour grapes he's so terribly fond of.

Food, however, is harder to get delivered. Most of what Dorian finds himself craving would rot before it reached Orlais. The cost of even trying with spells is far too exorbitant a sun for him to even contemplate except in moments of wistfulness.

It does not preclude _all_ food importations though.

"A powder," Cullen repeats skeptically. Not that the doubt enters his voice at all. It's displayed all over his face.

"Cocoa," Dorian carefully eases the box away from the ungrateful man. Sliding the lid back over it so none of the precious powder inside can be lost. Cullen still doesn't look impressed. Dorian probably should have taken it to Bull. At least he knew how very precious the mix was. Though that would inevitably mean splitting the goods with him, and Dorian is not going to do that too often willingly. "It's one of Seheron's major exports. They can also make chocolate with it, but it's better as a drink really."

Orlais and Antiva have better soils for that though. Seheron's unique crops aren't as well accepted for that, and Dorian is quite frankly glad for it. He doesn't try to explain any of that to Cullen though. The man is happy with floury cakes, and plain sugar when given the choice. Words won't sway him but a taste just might.

He busies himself with the warmed milk and teacup he borrowed from the kitchen. Measuring out the powder first before slowly adding the milk. Stirring as he pours so there's no unfortunate clumps lingering on the bottom when he's finished drinking it. He has nothing to add to it. None of the spices or candies or even brandies that go so well with the rich taste, but that's fine. The true beauty of the cocoa powder is that it's tastes fine no matter what is or is not done to it.

"There," Dorian taps the spoon on the rim of the cup when the drink has gained an evenly dark color. He presents the cup to Cullen with a slight bow and smirks as the man eyes it with even more skepticism. "Come now, my dear Commander, show some courage and try the strange Vint drink."

There's no bitterness in his voice, because Dorian is more amused than anything else, but Cullen looks at him sharply. With that adorable expression on his face that Dorian knows means he's worrying needlessly over him again. Dorian has seen in off an on since his first week in Haven when a few soldiers had thought to try and make Dorian 'understand' a few things. A laughable attempt at intimidation that Dorian could have handled easily himself if Cullen hadn't been the right -or wrong, depending on who you ask- side of just overhearing the whole matter.

It's charming how Cullen makes a point of not treating Dorian like the blood thirsty Tevinter mage like so many others. Dorian would be insulted by the action -no, he _had_ been insulted at first- but Cullen is not the kind of man who can fake things he does not feel. If nothing else, Dorian is fairly sure the man sees them as friends by this point.

"It looks like mud," Cullen protests but takes the cup anyway.

"Well, then, it'll be like a home cooked meal for you," Dorian smiles and leans back in his seat. The chess game is forgotten between them for the moment. "I've had Ferelden food before, remember?"

The barest hint of a smile graces Cullen's face before he hides it with the cup. Dorian notes it and then forgets it. He's less successful forgetting the way the almost smile makes his chest feel a tad tighter than it should.

Attraction. Such an irritating thing.

Cullen blinks in surprise and pulls the cup away to look at it. His tongue runs over his lips to catch the lingering trace of cocoa. Dorian notes, forgets, and fails miserably as Cullen does it again. His life. Sometimes Dorian wonders how very many unlucky signs he was born under to have to deal with these things.

"Is that capitulation I see?" Dorian teases as Cullen takes another, deeper drink.

"It still looks like mud," Cullen reluctantly hands the cup back to him before folding his hands over his stomach and turning his eyes to the board. "But, yes, you were right Dorian."

"Of course I am right!" He's always right. Dorian regrets, briefly, that he had not thought to bring more milk than what it would take to make one cup. There's a hint of cocoa on the corner of Cullen's lip, near the scar, and the image makes his finger twitch with the need to wipe it off. "But it does a man's pride good to hear it."

"Your ego needs no help," Cullen laughs and reaches out to move a piece even though Dorian's fairly sure it's his turn.

"Perfection needs no help," Dorian take the opportunity to twist the cup and take a small drink. Sighing in bliss at the taste of the drink. Heavy and rich just as he remembers it, and hint of something else. Something that's probably his foolish heart imagining things as he drinks from the same spot Cullen had.

Dorian notes it, and tires to forget it. He fails when he licks his lips and thinks he can taste that hint of something again. So he grins broadly and covers it all up with an abrupt change in topic. "Now, let me teach you a few things about losing."

.

.


	10. Worry

**Worry  
**

**A Word**: Request for hurt Cullen and Alistair worrying in his own way while threatening to kill him if he dies.

.

* * *

.

Cullen grunts as he slides down the ruined wall. He can feel something shift and grind painfully in his chest with the movement. Broken ribs. Hopefully that's all it is, but he knows it to be a lie even as he sinks to his knees. He can taste blood on the back of his tongue, and if he gives into the urge to cough now it'll speckle his lips. He grinds his teeth to fight the urge back because there's no need to worry anyone more.

Alistair is doing enough of that on his own without Cullen adding to it.

"Don't you dare die on me," the Warden growls as he follows Cullen down. Kneeling in front of him, hands steady on his shoulders like he's afraid to let go of Cullen. Afraid that if he does Cullen will fall dead immediately. Going by the sheer panic Cullen can see in his eyes that's probably exactly what he thinks. "Do you hear me, Cullen? If you die on me I'll- I'll kill you!"

"I'm not dying," it's hard to talk. Mostly from the pain, though breathing is difficult as well. He repeats himself, louder when Alistair starts to tug at the buckles of his armor. Fumbling them badly in an attempt to look for a wound not there. "I am not dying. And killing me would be counter productive."

"Oh, sure, sure. But it would make me _feel_ better if you went all selfish on me for once and actually died. So don't," Alistair growls, actually growls and stops long enough to focus a truly venomous glare on Cullen's armor. "Maker I know this comes off. I've seen it come off before. Why won't it-"

"Alistair! Enough!" Cullen grabs the man's hands as he starts to yank a little too roughly on the armor. "There's no wound, it's just my ribs. The demon didn't stab me it threw me."

The information does not seem to do much to ease Alistair's worry. If anything it makes it worse. The man looks _gutted_ as he stares at Cullen. One hand cups his chin, and the cold metal of a covered thumb brushes almost tenderly under his lip. "You're bleeding inside, how do I fix that?"

"I am not-"

"I can smell the blood on you," Alistair snaps harshly. Tripping just enough over the words that Cullen knows he meant to say something else. He's pulling on Cullen's arm before he can question that though. "If you don't have healers with your mages I'll kill someone else after you. I'm not sure who just yet but there will be a lot of death going around. Messy, bloody death, and who wants that after all of this?"

"I'm not dying," Cullen would laugh but that would hurt too much he thinks. It hurts being hauled up to his feet again. Arm up and over Alistair's shoulder as the Warden lifts him like he weighs nothing at all. "I will be fine."

It's a gasp that isn't very convincing even to himself.

"Death. Bloody, horrible death," Alistair promises as he sets off down the confusing ruins of Adamant. Taking them both away from the heart of the areas where the fight still rages despite the whole matter being won. "Death on you, death on your mages, death on everyone. Do you have any idea how busy I'll be? So no dying. You hear me?"

"No dying," Cullen agrees finally with a sigh that turns into a cough. One, not so dry, hacking cough that fills his whole mouth with the metallic taste of blood. The hand around his middle tightens. Gauntlet covered fingers pressing more worry into his side.

.

.


	11. View

**View  
**

**A Word**: Request for Dorian seeing Cullen without the armor for the first time.

.

* * *

.

"How are you _shorter_ than me?" Are the first words out of Dorian's mouth lubricated as it is by a few tankards of ale. Honestly, they would have also been the second or third even were he completely sober, because it's true.

Cullen Rutherford, the fierce Commander of the Inquisition's forces is a full two inches shorter than Dorian. The fact shouldn't seem like as much of a revelation as it is. Mahanon is almost a foot shorter after all and Dorian rarely notices it. The armor really bulks the man out too. He's far slimmer than Dorian would have thought too.

"I have always been shorter," Cullen says with a raised eyebrow. He crosses his arms over his chest and the motion is smoother and far less threatening than Dorian is used to.

"Well, _I_ never noticed," Dorian follows the straight lines of Cullen's shoulders and back with a critical eye. He always thought the man hunched, shoulders and body drooping down under an unseen weight. The influence of that damnable fur no doubt. "You found a nicely intimidating set of armor that makes you look bigger than you are. Good job there."

"It's armor," Cullen's caught between bemusement and irritation as he accepts the last tankard of ale. He balances his share carefully as he turns back to the table where everyone else is waiting. "It's supposed to be intimidating, but it can't alter me."

Dorian hums thoughtfully and gathers up the cups he's in charge of before following more slowly. Without the armor and excessive layers of clothing Dorian finds that the view from behind of the Commander is well worth the gold he's already lost playing.

.

.


	12. Royal Blue

**Royal Blue  
**

**Notes:** Request for Cullrian and the bed line.

.

* * *

.

Blue suits Dorian.

The dark color of the long jacket he's wearing goes well with the leather and shiny bits of his normal attire. It's the height of fashion in Tevinter but not particularly suited to the cold of Skyhold. It's been a long fight from many sides to get him in that jacket. One that only Vivienne had been able to solve to everyone's satisfaction.

Very satisfactory.

The jacket emphasizes the breadth of Dorian's shoulders in a way that having one bare had not. The way it lays makes the muscles in them and his back very apparent. The tails fall mid calf and probably flare out dramatically when he moves. Still, though, they frame his legs in a way that makes Cullen very aware of them.

It's the contrast, a part of Cullen's mind notes. Some remembered remark from Josephine or Vivienne. The brown and creams Dorian usually wears are different against the rich blue.

"I'd ask if you like it, but the answer to that is rather obvious," Dorian says, voice rising with humor even as his eyes go decidedly dark. He lowers his voice so only they can hear it, "If you keep looking at me like that, amatus, and we will not make it to a bed."

Cullen clears his throat and forces himself to look away at the statement that's half threat and all promise. "Then I suggest following me there, because I cannot make any promises if I must follow behind you."

Dorian laughs and laces a kiss on the back of his neck. His voice is wicked and makes Cullen shiver. "Lead the way then. I can _never_ get enough of watching you from behind."

There's no other touch but Cullen feels the implication of one. He doesn't hesitate to move because he knows they really won't make it if he allows Dorian to keep talking.

.

.


	13. Plans

**Plans  
**

**A Word**: Request for Anders and m!Hawke with the plan line.

.

* * *

.

Anders listens to Hawke's plan with equal amounts of awe and horror. There's absolutely zero chance of them getting out of it unharmed. In fact, it will be a miracle if they don't straight up _die_ from it.

"So, do I have your help?" Hawke asks hopefully at the end of the spiel. He's using the eyes he learned from his dog which is really overkill. Anders has a hard enough time saying no to the handsome rogue as it is. But this plan?

"Hawke, love," Anders reaches out to frame the man's face with his hands. Feeling the quiver and strain as he tries not to grin. "This has to be without a doubt the _stupidest_ plan you've ever had, and I'm including the ones Varric blew out of proportion. Of course I'm in."

The grin that spreads across Hawke's face is demented, and would give saner men pause. Anders never really had much to do with sanity though. Hawke wraps his arms around Anders to place a loud, smacking kiss on him. "Good, because I honestly don't think I'll live through this without my favorite healer. Aveline is _fast_ when she's pissed."

.

.


	14. Deal

**Deal  
**

**Notes:** Request for Cullen, Alistair and the first line.

.

* * *

.

"Hey! I was going to eat that!"

Cullen blinks and looks askance at the pouting boy across from him. After a moment he realizes he is in fact talking to Cullen. "But it was on my plate," Cullen points out with a frown.

The week has been going well so far. Cullen and the other two new recruits had been fitting in well with the others who have been training for longer. No one has yet bully them like he'd first feared, and Cullen wonders if that's about to change now.

"I know," the boy states solemnly. He taps the table in front of his plate as he explains. "I've been watching that piece of cheese the whole meal. I was waiting for you to look away so I could steal it."

It's a frank and startlingly honest statement that stuns Cullen for a bit before the confusion sets in. Was he actually telling Cullen he was going to take food from his plate?

"You never look away from your food though," the boy says with a disappointed sigh. He shakes his head sadly. "Has anyone said you are paranoid?"

"No," Cullen's still puzzled but bemusement is settling in as well now. He's not being bullied. Teased perhaps, but there's nothing at all malicious about it. "But now I know I should be. I'm Cullen."

"Alistair," the boy answers with a pleased looking grin. "And you don't have to, really. No one's going to steal all your food. You just might lose some cheese every once in a while."

"Right," Cullen snorts and turns back to his plate. He hesitates, debating a plan. Alistair looks across the room and and Cullen acts without further thought. Snatching up a large piece of bread from the boy's plate. Using it to sop up some gravy he stuffs it into his mou8th just as realization crosses the other's boy's face.

"I'll make you a deal," Cullen grins at Alistair. "I won't mind the odd bit of cheese going missing if you don't mind some bread running off on you.

Outrage and delight war across Alistair's face for a moment before he slowly grins. "Cullen, I think you and I are going to get along very, very well."

.

.


	15. Work

**Work  
**

**A Word**: Request for Cullistair and Alistair's excuse.

.

* * *

.

Cullen doesn't hear the alarm go off. It must have though because the discontent noise Alistair makes as he falls back on top of Cullen wakes him. Arms wrap around him tight enough to banish any lingering sleep in Cullen.

"You have work," Cullen reminds him when Alistair goes suspiciously quiet. "Alistair. Work."

"Don't want to go," Alistair groans and nearly6 smacks Cullen in the face trying to quiet him. "Shhhhh. Sleep now."

Cullen rolls out from under his weight. Stealing the blanket and only remaining pillow in a practiced move. "No, get up and go to work."

"I'm sick," Alistair tugs on the blanket futilely before giving up. He squints at Cullen resentfully. "I'll call in later. I need sleep now."

"How do you get to work when I'm not here?" Cullen ask with a snort and edges backward. "You're not sick. Stop complaining and get up."

"Yes, I am," Alistair protests. "Can't you tell? I've got the worst sickness ever."

"What, laziness?"

"No!" Alistair is quick to protest indignantly. He pauses for a thoughtful moment before continuing. "Well, yes, but that's not it. I'm pregnant!"

Cullen stares at his idiot boyfriend for a moment before kicking out hard enough to shove him off the bed. "Pregnant women work all the time."

"So mean," Alistair grunts as he picks himself off the floor. He yawns as he stretches, bones cracking loudly. "You'd better hope the twins are alright."

"Just go to work," Cullen rolls over onto his stomach so he can spread out more comfortably. He's got nowhere to be until noon and is determined to laze about for a bit.

Alistair laughs and the bed dips slightly as he leans down to brush a kiss along his jaw before leaving the room to get ready.

.

.


	16. Boo

**Boo  
**

**Notes:** Request for Cullrian and "Boo".

.

* * *

.

"And who came up with this brilliant plan?" Cullen asks after a long moment of careful study and contemplation of the choices in his life that have led him to this.

Dorian seems to need to hold his forehead in order to ponder the question. Bull just thinks it's funny and keeps laughing. Cullen doesn't know where Cole's wandered off to since the whole... _thing_ collapsed and the three men went sprawling.

The _thing_ seems to be some unholy combination of cheap Halloween ghost and a bad horse costume made for three people. Cole had wandered off with the misshapen head leaving Bull and Dorian with what Cullen can only think is two different hind ends.

"Varric," Dorian finally comes up. The carefully enunciation of the name and the exaggerated care of his finger tapping just slightly off center of his chin the only sign that he's beyond his usual level of inebriation. As if the costume and bumbling crash down the stairs wasn't sign enough. "Yes, it definitely was him."

"And what was the plan exactly?" Cullen reaches out to grip the sheet that's been mutilated for the costume. It's twisted worryingly around his neck and Cullen's almost afraid he'll choke himself moving a little too much. "Besides sending the three of you to the ER that is."

Bull stops laughing long enough to take a swig of the bottle he's managed to keep both intact and filled through the fall. He grins broadly up at Cullen, not totally plastered like Dorian. He solemnly says, "Boo."

Dorian cracks up into almost hysterical laughter and Cullen sighs as he finishes unwrapping his boyfriend before bending down to get one of his arms over his shoulders. He's already displayed how very little he can be trusted to walk right now. "Forget I asked."

He'll find Varric in the morning and get the full story from him then.

.

.


	17. Trapped

**Trapped  
**

**A Word**: Request for Cullrian.

.

* * *

.

Magic has a feel and weight for those who've been around it enough. The weight of a barrier ward is unsurprisingly heavy. Stifling and claustrophobic to sit under. The feel of it is something close to a harsh sanding stone.

Cullen falls back with a gasp and drops to one knee. His hands feel raw from where he's tried pushing it. Testing the wards physically for any weakness he can exploit. There are none. A second examination hasn't found any and he has to fight the urge to try for a third time.

Panic bubbles fiercely below his iron control and pushes him to keep trying. To throw himself at the wards and fight until he can't anymore. To hit at the air until his hands bleed and scream until his voice gives. Anything, _everything_ he can possibly do to keep the demons at bay.

There are no demons though. There's nothing but the stones of the unbarred cell, the glowing glyphs of the wards, and one unconscious mage.

The reminder eases some of the urgency, but panic still scratches at his insides. Cullen turns to Dorian and kneels next to him. Checking again, but the mage appears to be no closer to waking now than he was the last four times he checked. The cut on his head isn't bleeding anymore at least. The few drops of a healing potion he'd dripped out earlier working well.

"Dorian," Cullen tries to wake the man despite knowing it's useless. "Dorian!"

He doesn't even stir. It's more than just an injury can account for. Time is a funny thing, and Cullen knows his own accounting of it is compromised by his panic. Even taking that into account they've been trapped for a worryingly long time. A long time for Dorian to remain unconscious and for no one to have come to check on their captives.

Worry and suspicion do very little to calm him, but Cullen tries. He sits down and pulls Dorian back into his lap. Focusing on the weight of his head, and the softness of his hair as he waits. It will be only a matter of time before that is no longer enough and he has to get up to test the wards again, but it helps.

"You need to wake up," Cullen whispers, bending his head down so that his words reach only Dorian's unhearing ears. "You need to wake up because I can't do this without you."

He can't. He can't, but he's going to try for as long as he can.

.

.


	18. Right Time For Two

**Right time for two.  
**

**Notes:** Request for Cullrian.

.

* * *

.

It had been perfect. Cassandra and Leliana had done something probably terrifying to reserve the whole balcony. A not inconsiderable miracle given the popularity of the restaurant. Something he'd thought beyond even Leliana's somewhat shady skills which might be why Cassandra had stepped in too.

Cullen doesn't think he can pronounce the name of the place or half of what is on the menu, but that was also taken care of for him. They'd been shown straight to the single table and hadn't been handed a menu at all. The meal and drinks had been chosen for them ahead of time, and were perfectly suited to both of their tastes. A nice detail he'll probably have to thank Josephine for later.

The ease of not having to make another decision helps the case of jumpy nerves he's been dealing with all day. Steadying his hands as he eats, and making him able to carry on a coherent enough conversation to not tip Dorian off to his plans.

The ring is perfect too. A black titanium ring with an intricate pattern carved into it. There's no jewels as the band itself is shiny enough to be counted as one. Tastefully understated and well suited to Dorian's style, had been Varric's comment. The box has been a solid weight in his pocket all night. Constantly on his mind until the last plate is whisked away from the table. Cullen takes a breath to steady himself before pulling it out and getting down on one knee.

At the exact same moment Dorian does the same.

"Well, fancy meeting you down here," Dorian, unsurprisingly, finds his tongue first. Cullen's eyes are fixated on the small box in his hands so he misses the grin that probably goes with it. The ring he's holding is a burnished gold that doesn't shine but does gleam a little. Small, diamond shaped rubies are spaced evenly around it.

"Good minds think alike?" Cullen's mouth pulls up in a grin that's probably on the demented side, but he doesn't care at all. Dorian's proposing to _him_. It's both funny and joyous. "So, who gets to actually ask the question?"

"I'm feeling rebellious," Dorian says and his smile is more than a little demented too. He plucks the ring from the box and slides it onto Cullen's hand. Placing a soft kiss on it once it's settled. "Since out co-conspirators probably set this up for the sole purpose of making a betting pool on who would ask first; I say neither of us asks. We both say yes and let them all suffer."

Cullen follows Dorian's lead and slides the titanium band on. Relieved it fits, he kisses Dorian's hand, shivering a little at the contrast of cold metal and warm skin. "Yes."

"Yes," Dorian repeats and Cullen pulls on the hand he's holding until they're kissing properly. Both on their knees still and he can't help it.

Cullen laughs, breaking the kiss but Dorian's laughing too even as he stands up. Hauling on their inked hands. "Well, then. How about we discuss how in the Void we're going to manage the wedding over dessert?"

"You're going to ruin dessert with talk about seating arrangements for our family?" Cullen asks as he slides back into his seat. Noting the bustle of the waiters near the door.

"If it keeps me from ravaging my unbearably handsome fiance on the table?" Dorian's stare is frank and sharp. "Yes. I'd rather not be kicked out, thank you. The wine is rather good here and I'd like to come back for out anniversary."

Cullen coughs as an elaborate looking plate is brought out for each of them and takes a long swallow of his own wine to clear his throat. Chest going tight at the word 'fiance.' "Good plan."

.

.


	19. Abilities

**Abilities  
**

**A Word**: Request for Alistair using Templar abilities and Cullen being curious. Got a bit thinky.

.

* * *

.

"You were never made a Templar," Cullen states. Still a little stunned as he watches the two mages being escorted to different parts of the Keep to calm down once they're no longer weak with the Holy Smite Alistair had unleashed on them when things started catching fire.

"No, I was conscripted before my Vigil," Alistair says easily even as he sends a narrow look at the mage wearing Warden armor.

Which means he never received his first dose of lyrium. And yet he just Smited two mages as easy as any of the Templars under his command. Cullen frowns and watches as the Warden mage shakes himself. Recovering faster than the Inquisition mage, and notes that for later plans.

"Ah. I see. You're wondering how I did that," Alistair says after a puzzled silence. Puzzled on both sides. "The answer to that is: not easily."

"You should not be able to at all," Cullen cannot. Not with the same skill or force he used to. It's better for him to not even try. Using any Templar ability makes his body light up with craving for lyrium.

"I used to think lyrium wasn't needed to use those skills," Alistair says as he flexes his hand. He looks around and nods up the stairs leading to the battlements. Cullen falls in step with him. "They taught us the motions and everything before the Vigil. Made it second nature but never let us actually do anything, right? So the first time I sparred with a Warden mage I did it was on accident," he laughs then and there's a bit of wistfulness in it. "I gave him a concussion. Duncan nearly had my hide. So, I just thought all you needed to do was practice. That the lyrium was just a shortcut."

"I take it that's not the case," Cullen prods when the man stops.

"No," he leans up against the wall and watches a sentry walk away. Waiting for him to be well out of hearing before continuing. "The ritual that makes us Wardens gives us a lot of abilities. It also can act like lyrium. Or something like that. I don't know the details of it. The guy who told me about it tends to ramble on about disturbing things and I kind of ignore him for my own well being. I just know that me being a Warden allows me to use the abilities of a Templar without having to top up with dwarf dust every day."

"That sounds terrifying," Cullen admits after a moment. It's common knowledge that Wardens are not the same as other people. Less common knowledge that the abilities gained come with a high price. The full extent of it all is a secret they still guard fiercely. Just this glimpse of a little more makes Cullen question again how relatively easily they won over Adamant.

"You really have no idea," Alistair says with a laugh. His eyes are dark and distant even as he pushes away from the wall. "Anyway! That's why I can Smite. I really wouldn't recommend Wardenhood as an alternative to lyrium though. Both paths kind of end the same. Well, there'll be more violence and less drooling for me. At least I hope there'll be less drooling. Can't be totally sure about that."

Because Wardens go into the Deep Roads and very rarely come back to report what happens. That is common knowledge, but Cullen doesn't care to think about it. Not when Alistair's freely admitted he does not have much time left.

"Hey," Alistair's fingers are warm when they wrap around his wrist. Pulling lightly until Cullen looks at him again. All trace of sorrow and distance gone as he smiles crookedly. There's a mischievous light in his brown eyes as he nods back down to the courtyard. "What evil and nefarious punishment do you want to inflict on Shouty and Smaller Shouty? I was thinking a week of playing healer for Bull's men."

"Two," Cullen turns his hand so that he can return the hold and lets the other man guide his thoughts back to the immediate presence instead of the possible future. "At the least. Krem will make sure they work through whatever issues they have and regret it."

.

.


	20. Two Muffins

**Two Muffins  
**

**Notes:** Request for Alistair trying to make Cullen laugh with horrible humor.

.

* * *

.

"-and the second muffin looks over at the first and say, 'Oh, no, a talking muffin!'"

Cullen squints into the darkness of the room and contemplates rolling over enough to reach out and swat at the black form that's Alistair. He rejects it and rolls the other way to stuff his head under his pillow. Time has taught him that acknowledgment only encourages the other recruit.

"-'Oh, no! A talking muffin!'" Alistair finishes with a broad grin. Clearly satisfied with his delivery.

Cullen squints at him over their tasteless breakfast for a moment before shaking his head in silent despair.

.

.

"Ok, so there's two muffins-"

"Maker, Alistair," Cullen grunts as he strikes out at the other young man's shield. "You've told me that joke every day, _multiple times_, for the past month. The joke is not funny. Let it go."

Alistair shrugs off the blow and lashes out with his own. Cullen takes the full brunt of the force with his shield and grits his teeth against the shock of pain. No one hits as hard as Alistair, and Cullen's growing quite proud of his ability to endure.

"No, look, it's really funny. Trust me," Alistair says with the kind of smile no one in their right mind should trust. "There's two muffins-"

Cullen groans and tries to drown the words out with a sudden flurry of blows.

.

.

"-and says, 'Wow, it sure is hot in here.' The other muff-oof!"

"Stop telling that joke!" Cullen shouts, and maybe it echoes a little too much in the practice yard but he doesn't care. He's sick and tired of that joke and he's willing to beat Alistair until he forgets there ever was a joke. Pity the older knights where there to break them apart.

Muffins. Cullen hadn't even liked them much in the first place.

.

.

"Two muffins are sitting in an oven. One muffin turns to look at the other and says, 'Wow, it's really hot in here.' The other muffin looks back and says, 'Oh, no, a talking muffin!'"

Cullen stares up at the invisible ceiling of their shared room and doesn't groan. He doesn't throw things at Alistair or yell at him for telling that damn joke again. No, for some inexplicable reason Cullen feels his lips quirking up as his shoulders start to shake.

The first strain of laugh is low and almost painful until he opens his mouth up enough to properly _laugh_. He laughs long and hard until there's tears coming from his eyes and Alistair is echoing him. "I told you it was funny!"

It is. Maker knows why, but it really is.

.

.


	21. Idol

**Idol  
**

**A Word**: Request for Cullen being a total fanboy for Alistair's actions as a Warden and then meeting him for the first time in Skyhold.

.

* * *

.

"Wait, what?" Cullen snaps his attention away from the patrol reports Leliana handed him as something Josephine says registers. "The Warden Alistair?"

"Yes!" Evelyn says immediately. Showing the same kind of excitement that Cullen is now feeling. "_The_ Warden Alistair! I couldn't believe it when Hawke introduced us."

Cullen thinks about not being jealous for a brief moment before giving it up for a lost cause. He is jealous, there's no denying that. Who wouldn't feel a little jealous at not being introduced to one of the greatest heroes of the era? Even without his particular history he would feel a little envious.

"I see," Cullen can't help the envy but he chooses instead to focus on the Inquisitor's words. "Did he say why he was refusing the guest quarters?"

"Because that is what Alistair does," Leliana cuts in smoothly. Amused as she looks over Evelyn's suddenly embarrassed face. "Fame has never suited him, and he really will feel most comfortable bedding down in the stables."

"But, it's the stables!" Josephine protests. Quill poised like she can write away the problem. "How can we allows such an important guest sleep with the horses?"

"By not pestering him," Leliana suggests and Cullen knows the woman well enough to know she's laughing at them all. "It really will be fine, stop worrying so much and let the man be comfortable however he can. Maker knows he doesn't often get the chance."

Her words are enough to somewhat mollify Josephine and Cullen clears his throat before talk can go further off track. "About that request from the Western Approach..."

.

.

Cullen doesn't plan on tracking the Warden down. Leliana's words about not pestering the man linger in his mind, and it's a small enough reward for a man who has done so very much. He studiously steers clear of the stables, and thus is completely unprepared for when he stumbles across Alistair on the battlements.

"Warden," Cullen manages to get out somewhat coherently when the man turns to look at him curiously.

Alistair has changed. Unsurprising really given how very many years passed since he last saw him.

"Ah, yes, that's me. The Warden. And you are," Alistair tilts his head to the side briefly before nodding, "the Commander? Captain? Something. Your the one in charge of all those men with swords and spears and whatnot."

"Commander," Cullen affirms and shifts on his feet as he looks around. This section of the wall is relatively clear. A roving sentry having just passed by. They're about as alone as it's possible to get in the keep. That does very little to ease Cullen's nerves. "Cullen Rutherford, and yes. I lead the soldiers, and- other forces we have."

"Other forces," Alistair repeats with a bit of emphasis. A slight grin tilts his lips up and there's the cheerful Warden Cullen remembers pulling him through the fallen wards. "Other glowy, magical forces?"

"Mages, yes," Cullen clears his throat because he's been prodded on that point a little too often to not be a little sensitive of it. The Inquisitor put her trust in the mages, and Cullen follows suit. He's not had many reasons to regret it. "Mostly I was referring to the mercenaries. My mages would be counted as men carrying spears."

Alistair barks out a sharp laugh and holds his hands up in mock surrender. "Sorry, I didn't mean anything by that. I've got nothing against them really."

"I didn't think you- I didn't mean to imply you had," Cullen blows out a sharp breath and rubs at the back of his neck with one hand. Grimacing a little as the Warden smirks just a bit more. "I know you've worked with mages admirably during the Blight."

"Yeah, that," the grin and light of humor dies almost immediately and Cullen's left a little at a loss. "That's me, Alistair with the Darkspawn and Archdemon. I really need to change my name if people are going to keep bringing up my 'admirable' past."

"Admirable," an understatement really but there's a weariness buried in Alistair's eyes that goes beyond the physical. Pestering. Cullen wonders how very sick he is of people bringing the Archdemon up around him. "Personally I'm more grateful for your help at Kinloch than anything else."

"The Tower?" That throws Alistair, and he blinks before carefully studying Cullen. There's no recognition in his eyes at all, and Cullen's not at all disappointed by that. It speaks well of how very far removed he is from that shaking, hurt and angry man.

"I was rather delirious. Shamefully so, and lashed out wrongly for it," Cullen remembers that trip back down to the ground floor. Nightmarish and sickening as Alistair dragged most of his weight for him. The blood stained halls blurring around him as the Warden kept up a light stream of utter nonsense that Cullen hadn't been able to appreciate until much later. "I think I may have actually punched you once or twice."

Three times before they reached the second floor, and once more just before the first.

"Oh, well, don't worry about that. I have that kind of face really. Everyone seems to want to hit it," Alistair relaxes a tension Cullen hadn't noticed easing. He gives a slight smile, it's not as bright as the smirk from earlier but it seems more sincere at least. "You look much better though."

"I think I'd have to work extremely hard to look worse," Cullen points out and almost immediately thinks he really wouldn't. He's seen Samson and his Red Templars and knows it's possible.

Alistair says nothing in response and seems a little lost. As lost as Cullen feels really. He has the urge to thank Alistair. Thank him for being there, for dragging him down the stairs, for telling him the stupidest story about a wheel of cheese and two nugs. He gets the feeling though that Alistair is tired of that and keeps his silence.

"If you need anything-" Cullen starts to say when the silence grows awkward.

"Yeah, sure," Alistair says dismissively and turns back to the view from the walls.

Cullen nods and turns to walk away. A little disappointed but he did vow not to pester the man over much. Besides, with such a short interaction there's been little chance for him to make an idiot out of himself. He gets maybe a few steps away before Alistair calls out.

"Wait," Cullen turns around and Alistair steps away from the wall. He's smiling a little sheepishly as he shrugs slightly."I hear there's a tavern here. Want to grab a round or two with me?"

"Of course," Cullen nods his head in acceptance even as it leaves him open to more chances to make a fool of himself. "I can't recommend it, but after the first few drinks you stop tasting it."

.

.


	22. Snowballs Chance

**Snowball's Chance  
**

**Notes:** Ibid

.

* * *

.

The motion is odd and catches Cassandra's gaze. She turns her head to observe it. The Iron Bull stops immediately and grins at her. Wide and overly friendly. The smile he uses when he's being yelled at for something he does not see as wrong. Seeing it now is enough to put her instantly on edge.

The second thing she sees is the large ball of packed snow between his hands.

"No," his intentions are very clear. Actually being caught out is not going to deter him. "Don't you _dare_ throw that snowball-"

It hits with enough force to make her back a bit on her feet. A precarious thing given the unevenness of the land and the nearness of a rather large drop. All she sees for a moment is white before she shakes her head free from the worst of it.

"Damn you, Bull!" Cassandra seethes before bending to carefully lay down the loose herbs the Herald has been piling in her arms. Bulls laugh echoes in the air and she doesn't even try to retaliate in kind. As was his intention no doubt. Her hands can't match his for size so that fight would be unfair to begin with.

So she sets her feet, mentally maps out a trajectory, and charges him. Her shoulder hits his gut hard and Bull goes feet over horns down a relatively gentle incline and into the snow that's collected at the bottom.

There's a shocked moment of silence before Bull laughs again. "Good one!"

Cassandra will deny she smiles at that later.

.

.


	23. Ritual

**Ritual  
**

**Notes:** Ibid

.

* * *

.

The Templars request the use of the Undercroft for their newly sworn knights. Late at night when no one is likely to need the blacksmith or arcanist. They're eschewing the Chantry for many reasons that Cullen cannot fault them for. The least of those reasons being the fact that it's too small and too near rooms where people -not of the Order or the Chantry- can _hear_.

The first philter is not small and it is almost never finished willingly. The agony and ecstasy of that first dose is not something any of them forget though Cullen wants to at times with a desperation he can't describe. The fevered dreams that come after screaming yourself hoarse are fantastic and recalling his, even now, still leaves Cullen in awe.

It is not a quick or pretty process. Given the size of Skyhold and the diverse mix of the Inquisition forces the privacy of the Undercroft would be needed to shield the world from this last rite that knights undergo. Cullen thumbs the bent corner of the request and stares hard out his window.

The mages still hold Harrowings. On their own terms -and Cullen agrees the changes mean the apprentices are less likely to become possessed- and out in the open where the wary and curious can see what trials mages go through for the sake of control.

"Rather barbaric," Dorian had said the first time. Lips quirked oddly like he didn't know if he should sneer or laugh. "What's the point of waiting so long and making a spectacle out of it? Rejecting demons is easier when you start teaching them earlier and give them better reasons than 'Because I said so.'"

Cullen can't agree or disagree with the mage. He has a strict hands off policy with the mages when it comes to the things Templars used to strictly govern. He only observes carefully to make sure if anything goes wrong it won't take the entire keep.

It has gone wrong a time or two but Fiona's people handled it well, and few who had been watching the Harrowings even noticed the way those events had almost spiraled out of control. It's gone a long way to easing tension in the ranks. This public spectacle as Dorian calls it has done more for reassuring them than all the words of the Inquisitor ever could.

The Undercroft is isolated and perfect for the unofficial ritual. The real entry rite for Templars. A closely kept secret they guard with jealous pride. Holding it close like a mark of honor, when the secretiveness of it speaks only of shame to him now.

"No," Cullen finally answers and the soldier who's been waiting tensely jumps. Nearly hurting himself saluting before rabbiting out the door to deliver the refusal. The nervous energy that had slowly built up in the silence giving him fast legs. "This will come back to bite us."

"I think you will be surprised," Leliana says. Finally moving away from the dagger filled practice dummy Cullen's never gotten around to removing. Her intent interest in the blades as unnerving as her pointed silence during his consideration. "There is a price to be paid for all power and too few understand what Templars pay. Seeing it cannot hurt their image any more than the rebellion already has."

"I doubt that," but he's already given his answer.

Tomorrow, when the newest recruit's Vigil is finished he will be brought to the courtyard beside the stables for that first overwhelming dose of lyrium and all of Skyhold will know whether or not they show up to see it. The screams will echo and that pride all Templars have felt won't survive the looks they will see in others' eyes.

"I hope you're right," Cullen sighs and rubs the back of his neck. Trying to ease the tight muscles there. "I doubt it but I do hope."

"We cannot bring change by continuing as we have in the past," Leliana says and places a firm hand on his shoulder. Conviction in her eyes and voice. "Everything is already broken. We cannot make something that will last by following those old plans. They failed us and brought us where we are now. New ways must be found for everyone, and all these secrets cannot be kept."

The spymaster is talking about doing away with secrets. The bread and butter of her whole trade. It should make him chuckle but Cullen's not feeling very amused. She's speaking of more than just mages and templars, of more than just those in the Inquisition.

"I'll pray," Cullen says and that's all he can offer. Tomorrow they will see, and maybe things will go as Leliana predicts or not.

"Maker willing," Leliana says like the ending benediction of a prayer as she turns to leave. "We will make it work either way though. Trust _me_ in that."

.

.


	24. End, Cullen x Alistair

**End**

**Notes: **Cullen/Alistair and a final kiss before the world ends.

.

* * *

.

Fire and death rain down from the sky that is no longer sundered as much as just gone. Cullen shakes with the earth that roots him to the ground that is being swallowed up. His knees too weakened from the singing madness of the red lyrium that grows from his body to take him any further.

"I can't," he whispers to the spirits of the dead that roil before the tide of demons, to the memories in his mind that seem more real than anything around him now. "I cannot..."

There's a sharp laugh beside him as a broadsword, dangerously close to shattering from wear, sinks into the ground in front of him. One, single sharp laugh as he's joined by a face that doesn't match his memories no matter how hard he struggles to pull away from the lyrium in his veins.

"Damned stupid way to die," Alistair says in a voice as broken as Cullen feels. There's darkness in his face, and corruption runs rampant through his body. It sings in harmony with the red lyrium in Cullen. His teeth are bloody when his skeleton's face grins at Cullen. "If we were half as smart as people said we were, we'd have died when this whole mess began to go down hill."

Cullen doesn't laugh, but the croak his throat makes is close enough. The humor is dark but appreciated, and all that they have left to throw out as the final shredding of the veil destroys everything. Cullen's glad for this final destruction. Glad to know that -_finally!_\- there is an end to this suffering.

Finally, finally...

The sight is horrible though, and not even the madness of the lyrium can tear his eyes away. Cullen shudders with the kind of fear he thought burnt out of him more than a year ago. The fear that had been missing when the cells failed to hold them, and the few with any sort of will to live clawed their way out of the dungeons. It's back now and he cannot remember if he'd ever felt it so keenly before in his life.

"Don't look," Alistair keens next to him and a hand turns his face away from the coming tide of destruction. His eyes are grey and filmed over like the dead, but filled with the same fear Cullen feels. "Maker, just don't look at it. Don't even-"

Cullen lurches forward. The kiss is awkward and painful. Fueled by desperation that's matched by Alistair, and the vague thought that this is something the had done before. Maybe. It's hard to separate the delusions in the cells from reality, and false memories had been a comfort for so long.

He focuses on the kiss though. Pushing aside the everything else until there is nothing left at all for either of them to fear.

.

.


End file.
